


Undertaker and Juniper

by flower_child



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:21:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4792520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flower_child/pseuds/flower_child
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the song "Undertaker and Juniper" by Madisen Ward and the Mama Bear</p>
<p>Cosima Niehaus, criminal. Sentenced to death.</p>
<p>Delphine Cormier, undertaker. </p>
<p>Victorian London.</p>
<p>"Got a funny little feeling in the back of my head<br/>Is it love?<br/>Is it love?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undertaker and Juniper

The startling _bang_ of the gavel, and suddenly chattering voices filled the courtroom as four cold hands seized my own from behind. They forced me into a standing position, holding fast to my wrists.

_Don’t worry,_ I thought bitterly, _I’m not going anywhere._

A ringing filled my ears as I set my jaw tightly and my chin even higher, the sounds of the emptying hall growing fainter. There was a room off to the side of the judge’s bench—was that where I was being frog-marched? As we approached, a set of spiral stairs became silhouetted against the dark frame. I glanced upward to the ceiling of the main courtroom—a hatch. I guess I could’ve anticipated that.

A kick in the boots told me to hurry it up. I scowled at nobody.

Did they know how difficult it was to climb stairs in a full petticoat? A strand of hair fell loose into my face. I blew it out of the way—trying not to think about how soon it would stop growing.

Four doors ran along the dimly-lit hallway, three bearing placards on their wooden frames. Two of the hands on my wrists left to shove first the door open, then me through it. As I tripped over the threshold, I saw the name _Cormier_ engraved on the door.

Whipping my falling hair out of my face, I caught sight of the undertaker at the desk. Table piled high with papers and glasses perched on her nose, Dr. Cormier looked up from her work and raised an eyebrow.

My eyes must’ve been the size of saucers—she was beautiful. Curly blonde hair was done up in a neat chignon, intense hazel eyes raking from my brown boots to my own eyes. I became extremely aware of my loose-fitting decade-old mahogany dress; as the doctor stood up to introduce herself, I got a full view of her emerald dress underneath her physician’s coat. Practical and plain, but still breathtaking.

“Dr. Cormier,” she said, extending a gloved hand to me.

_She’s French. Jesus Christ._

Before I could reply, a voice from behind me growled, “Court ordered physical before hanging.”

The doctor flicked an eyebrow from me to the men behind me and said curtly, “Yes. Please wait outside.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, this is a criminal,” the other man reasoned.

Dr. Cormier’s face visibly cooled. “Please wait outside,” she repeated. “Women’s matters are private and should remain as such.”

“Of course,” the two mumbled, finally releasing my wrists and backing out of the room.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Dr. Cormier turned swiftly away, still refusing to meet my eyes. “You may sit on the operating table.”

Swallowing hard and rubbing my sore wrists, I finally got a good look at the room. The walls seemed to be made of the same wood as the floor, the only differentiation lying in the medical certificates and anatomical posters lining the walls.

As she helped me onto the table, I noticed with a shock that she’d removed her gloves. She’d obviously felt something, too, quickly withdrawing her hand, color rising high in her cheeks.

She cleared her throat again and glanced down at her clipboard, but the eyes that glanced back at my own after a moment were wide with…something.

“Name?” she asked hoarsely. I could tell she was trying desperately to stay professional. Was I having the same effect on this woman as she was having on me?

It was positively _electric._

“Cosima Niehaus,” I stated, trying not to let my eyes wander as she scribbled hastily on her clipboard.

“Date of birth?”

“9th March, eighteen sixty-three.”

_“C’est vrai?”_ she grinned. “I’m in the same year.”

I flashed a smile, maintaining eye contact for half a second past propriety.

Swallowing loudly, she tried to conceal the twitch of her lips, but I saw _everything._

“I just have to, em, check your lymph nodes.”

Setting the clipboard down next to me, Dr. Cormier raised her bare hands to feel just below my jawline. Her fingers were soft and cold against my skin, gently massaging to feel for something beneath.

“Elevated heart rate,” she breathed, face barely two inches from my own.

I flashed an eyebrow. “Well, I am going to die in a few minutes.”

Her lips parted, eyebrows knitting together. Her right hand hadn’t yet left my face; she moved her thumb slightly to trace it along my jawline. _“Je suis désolée.”_

I shrugged, managing to keep my chin in place as what felt like lightning bolted throughout my body. “The angels come for all of us, no?”

“Not so soon,” she whispered.

I nodded. “The things I did, I have to go.”

Looking into her eyes, I saw such horrible sadness—it didn’t make sense. We’d only just met, but I felt it too.

I’d been so ready to die, but I felt like I needed to hang on.

For her.

And I didn’t even know her name.

Her thumb hadn’t stopped its gentle massage of my jaw, our eyes meeting for what could’ve been years.

“Is it gonna be you?” I asked hoarsely. It was incredible how much comfort I found in the idea that my executioner would be someone so familiar.

She nodded, eyes brimming with tears.

_Bang!_

_Bang!_

_Bang!_

The door rattle on its hinges as one of the men outside pounded. “Hurry _up!”_

Dr. Cormier jumped back, that inexplicable sadness replaced entirely by terror.

She swallowed and mouthed something to me as the man forced his way in.

_It’s time._

I know it is.

I know because time has sped up. It was like I was watching everything from the outside in, like it was happening to someone else. But I knew it was me. I knew it was I who was about to leave my body, not any of them.

As the two men seized my wrists again, I glanced back at Dr. Cormier, who was again hunched over her desk, scribbling something down on a piece of paper.

_Is she not coming?_ I thought.

Fear started coursing through my body again. Blood was pounding past my ears with the sound of an army as I was marched to the first doorway in the hall.

 

There it was.

A pedestal.

The rope hanging from the ceiling.

Directly above the hatch.

Light, hurried footsteps followed us into the room.

The doctor was back!

I was walked directly under the noose, my breathing quickening and my palms sweating. So soon, so soon, it would be over.

The men released me and Dr. Cormier began fashioning the knot.

I closed my eyes—I couldn’t see her face and I didn’t want to.

Or did I?

This woman’s face was inexplicably the only thing I wanted to see again.

A slip of something into my palm.

Paper?

My eyes flew open and I was face to face with Dr. Cormier.

“Be brave,” she breathed before slipping the rope over my head.

I felt her presence leave as I closed my eyes again. Why would I want to watch my own death?

The creak of a lever and suddenly the ground flew out beneath me.

I screamed—what else are you supposed to do?

But the pressure that would snap my neck did not come. No, I kept falling. Falling for far too long.

In the millisecond that I opened my eyes, I realized I had fallen through the noose. It hadn’t caught.

A millisecond later, I hit the floor of the courtroom with a resounding _thud._

Men shouting from above.

I started to run.

That’s what I do—I run.

I run away from everything and everyone.

That’s how I’ve lasted this long, right?

Cutting ties.

You can’t be an attached criminal.

About to shove open the courtroom door, I stopped and looked back.

Through the hatch, I could see Dr. Cormier’s terrified face, trying to stop the men from jumping back through.

_“Go!”_ she shouted to me.

My eyes widened—no, I wasn’t going to back out of this one. It was the strangest thing, but I needed her with me. “Dr. Cormier, come _on!”_ I screamed. “Just _jump!”_

I could tell she was afraid—the men were wrestling her almost to the ground, and she didn’t want to jump.

“It’ll be fine, just come on!” I shouted, waving my hands frantically.

Her emerald skirt flew around her ankles in her desperate attempt to kick the men off of her. It was like it was in slow-motion as one of her heeled boots made purchase. She kicked the larger man directly in his groin, knocking him back off her.

I just stood with my hands over my mouth, shouting, _“Run! Come on!”_

Then she jumped.

I could tell immediately she wasn’t going to land right. Her legs were extended too far, her heels too fragile.

I sprinted forward, arriving just in time for her legs to crash into my body. I fell backwards, adrenaline canceling out any pain of impact.

Grunting, I pushed her off of me by the hips. “Let’s _go!”_

Catching our hands together, we ran down the wooden aisle, the sound of bodies hitting the courtroom floor echoing.

As we flew down the stairs outside the courthouse, I felt her hand pulling me to the right, and we took off down the street, dodging children and horses and busy people.

“My house,” she hissed. “This way.”

She pulled me down a deserted alley between two brick buildings and we finally stopped to catch our breath.

“Th-thank you,” I panted, leaning against the wall of one of the buildings. “You…saved my life.”

She shook her head, coughing into her sleeve. It looked like she didn’t know what to say, but neither did I. I could tell we were both thinking the same thing—there was an inexplicable pull between us.

She caught me by the wrist suddenly. “Do you believe in past lives?” she breathed.

_What?_

“Not until today.”

Keeping her eyes trained on mine, she brought my hand up to her jaw and stepped an inch closer.

Electricity crackled from her face to my fingers, bolting throughout my body. It was addictive, the feel of her skin on mine. It was like I’d felt with men, but a hundred times more intense.

And then she kissed me.

For a dead woman, I’d never felt more alive.

 

_Got a funny little feeling in the back of my head,_

_Is it love?_

_Is it love?_


End file.
